


Off The Record - Hannibal Version

by RAAMIsABeast



Series: Off The Record [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Wendigo Hannibal Lecter, Young Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAAMIsABeast/pseuds/RAAMIsABeast
Summary: Hannibal leant against the doorway as he watched his younger brother dance in the kitchen. A moment of unguardedness and lack of decorum, for them both. His untucked shirt fluttered with each sway of his hips, swinging with the beat whispering through the earphones discreetly hugging his inner ears.Really, Francis shouldn't be strutting his stuff in Hannibal's domain. It was just inviting the older man to settle behind him, back to chest, catch the younger man's waist and match his pace. A predator toying with his prey.Francis gasped, tensing for half a second before he inhaled Hannibal's usual colonge and relaxed. His head lolled back to rest on the doctor's left shoulder, baring his right side of his vulnerable neck and the ragged scar of Hannibal's teeth, a reminder of why he should never relinquish control within his presence.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Off The Record [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707427
Kudos: 20





	1. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Another Hannibal AU no one asked for xD
> 
> Now, I couldn't actually decide who I wanted Francis with more between Will and Hannibal, so there are two versions I will be working on.
> 
> Similar but with differing narratives and outcomes :p

He watched the younger boy mess around with the paint, smart enough to have laid old newspaper on the table so the delicately carved oak wasn't clogged up by the near haphazard thrusts of a paintbrush. No where near his skill in artistic pursuits, the attempt was none the less appreciated. After all, the painting was being done for him, even if he didn't much care for the painter or the sentiment.

The adults of this family were at work, and the older brother was supposed to be taking place of a guardian in their absence, but he was outside at the pool, flirting with physically attractive but shallow girls his age. So instead, he was left as the guard against the young boy's naive tendencies, even though he wasn't meant to be alone with said boy.

The orphanage had been reluctant to release him to this family, due to the younger brother, in case it 'set the poor boy back'. A year had passed without incident and the family had accepted him with little change to routine.

"Hanni."

Maroon eyes glanced down, meeting two wide, staring light green eyes. Slightly blown pupils, reflexive from stepping into Hannibal's shadow, were ringed by gold, constantly in flux with one another.

"Yes?"

Neutral, indifferent. But it didn't put off the boy. Why would it? He had had a year to get used to Hannibal's disregard for socialising beyond nessessity.

The boy frowned then, upset at himself, or guilty, because he then stared resolutely at the floor. Or his feet.

"I... I spilt the water for the brush..."

A glance didn't reveal a big spillage, and for a moment Hannibal nearly considered ignoring the boy in favour of counting the time, but the small splatter of water on the painting itself drew his gaze. Ah. That's why he was so distressed; he thought he'd ruined the painting.

"Nothing tissue can't fix."

For a moment, Hannibal stayed where he was, observing the other again. He was watching Hannibal again, hope dilating his already wide eyes even further.

"Really? It's not gone bad?"

"No. If you're gentle."

A few enthusiastic nods later and the boy was crawling back onto his chair, an unneeded amount of tissue scrunched up in his hand. He would probably smear the rest of the paint in his attempt to remove the water, Hannibal mused. He looked out into the back garden just as the girl laughed too loud to be genuine. Just six more years of this, and Hannibal could go his own way from this family. Two more years before the older brother hopefully moved out.

"There. All better now. Hanni, look!"

Pride bloomed in the boy's voice as he tilted the page to show Hannibal the results of his fight with the water droplets, and even Hannibal was surprised at the relatively unscathed painting. There were a few places the paper had rubbed against, but there were no major swipes through the colours.

Hannibal was pleasantly surprised, even as he ignored the feeling in favour of nodding a little.

"You did good."

Praise got him everywhere with the young one, who smiled like Hannibal had hung the stars before turning the day to night to reveal the beauty. That expression uncomfortably reminded him of his... past, and so Hannibal once again avoided staring too long.

Luckily, the older brother wandered in before the parents returned home, his girl company now gone.

"Flowers are for sissys. Are you a sissy, Francis?"

"No!"

"Why are you painting a flower then?"

He sneered a little, always picking on any perceived weakness of his brother's, a crow that hounds a dog. But most of the insults rolled over the younger boy's head like water off a duck's back.

"Because they're pretty."

***

"Were they behaved, Jason?"

"Yes, mum. No destruction to be cleaned or anything. I don't even think either of them have really moved."

Hannibal watched from his seat near the garden. The stool he was on wasn't meant to be here, but he had laid claim to this corner and this stool within the first week. There had been no disputes, only that Hannibal join them at the table for meals and that he didn't leave the stool laying around in random places.

The older son - Jason - looked much like his father, dark eyes and darker hair, with tanned skin and the beginning of muscle mass. Mr Harris was a construction worker, and his physical condition was proof of that. It was no secret that he would like his sons - especially the older one - to follow in his footsteps.

On the other hand, Mrs Harris and the younger son were of fairer quality, though one couldn't tell with the dye and fake tan Mrs Harris drowned herself in. There had been some pictures with her natural hair colour, a light blonde with piercing light green eyes. Francis didn't have the blonde of his mother, but he was a gentle, mousy brown, the perfect blend of gold and wet earth.

Hannibal, on the other hand, with his pale skin, dark maroon eyes and well bred posture, stood out amongst the British family. He still had his accent, and he hoped he kept it, further removing himself from them.

As with every other time, neither Hannibal nor the younger boy brought the older son's negligence to light, all three of them content with the arrangements. Jason didn't have to look after the weird kid nor his younger brother, Hannibal wasn't bothered by Jason, and Francis? Hannibal wasn't sure what he got out of it. He assumed he liked it though, otherwise he would have spilt the beans faster than he could blink.

Evening brought with it a lovingly home cooked meal, with fresh fruit juice of choice, and a close but not uncomfortable family setting. As usual, Hannibal seated himself at the end, next to the younger boy. Much more preferable than next to Mr Harris or the older one, because they always ended up in Hannibal's space.

Eating was a simple affair, really, with little meaningful talk and more filler, but it was the time Hannibal preferred the most for being talked too. The questions were meaningless and surface level: a how was your day or a have you done your homework ready for next week or something else. Small talk, and he was fine with that.

Night time routine was always the same. Hannibal usually retired at the same time the younger one did, if only so he wasn't left with mindless TV surfing. The company of his books was much more suitable entertainment before sleep.

It had been a normal night. Which was why, when Hannibal woke up shaking and drenched in his own sweat, choked sobs peeking out from behind his lips, he had no idea of the cause.

Fear tasted sour on his tongue, and he hastily downed the glass of water he'd brought up to sip during reading. It helped ease the burn of his nightmare, but didn't help ease the claws squeezing his heart cruelly. Flashes of _her_ curled into Hannibal's mind palace, straining the locked door of their resting place.

The first creak Hannibal heard, he thought he had conjured in his mental distress. The second one though? No. And then a third, their origin unknown and dragging him out of his mind to look around the room.

A shape was peering at him around his door, backlit by the carelessly left on light of the ajar bathroom door. For a panicked second, he thought it was a ghost, until the ghost whispered to him.

"Hanni?"

Concerned, and gentle.

"Yes?"

He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice, couldn't hide the click of his fear dry throat as he swallowed after.

His door was opened a little more, the light chasing away the shadows, and the younger boy lightly stepped into the room, coming over to Hannibal. In his arms was his favourite teddy, a plush and soft furred blue bear.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

He didn't want for an answer, crawling under the slick cover to lay next to Hannibal's sat up form.

"Go back to bed."

"No."

The blue bear was shoved at Hannibal then, throwing forward a front of scent that was pure Francis and undisturbed sleep. He didn't take the offered teddy, but he did lay back down, back to the other.

"I don't snore. Do you?"

"No."

"Good."

A warm body pressed against Hannibal's back then, a thin arm thrown affectionately and comfortingly over his side. He must have heard Hannibal's distress, and come to his aid in the only way he knew how. With a teddy and a hug.

Perhaps Hannibal could belong with the Harris' after all, or perhaps belong with Francis.


	2. The Outting

Hannibal awoke with the bear at his chest, clutched in the hand of his bedmate. He slowly turned around in the clingy embrace, observing his not-brother's sleeping form as it breathed slowly in his bed. His gentle brown hair, short and usually straight, was fluffed up at all angles like he had been dragged backward through a hedge. It was so convincing Hannibal almost expected to see stray leaves and twigs proudly broadcasting their claim to their patch of hair.

He tilted his head a small amount, calculating exactly how the younger boy would look after being dragged through bushes, and tensed at the brush of knuckles against his jaw. A glance down revealed Francis's second arm, bent at the elbow to run between Hannibal and Francis's body like a border, the softly curled fist ending just in like with Hannibal's jaw.

Francis hummed as he shifted, head curling under Hannibal's chin to puff against his sleep shirt, whining shortly after.

"Morning."

Hannibal murmured, moving his head as the boy moved back.

"Morning."

He smiled, his cuddling arm tightening around Hannibal in affection, the arm between them moving so he could blearily rub sleep from his eyes.

"Are you okay now?"

Green eyes locked onto dark ones, assessing him. However, Hannibal had regained his foundations during sleep, and so Francis saw nothing out of the ordinary detachment and dark colour.

"Yes."

Was the simple reply, before the older boy tugged himself free of the other and sat up.

"Go back to your room now. Before Mr and Mrs Harris wake up."

Having expected a crestfallen whine, Hannibal was unprepared for the mischevious face Francis pulled.

"Is this our secret? You being a softie."

"Out. Now."

He made to chase him out, and Francis giggled in delight at the supposed playfulness. Hannibal had a feeling that if he had actually put effort into catching Francis, the boy wouldn't be so happy about it.

***

Breakfast rolled around with the soft aromas of toast and a mild cheese, melted to stringy perfection. Steam rolled into the air from all five plated portions, mixing and dancing in the middle of the table.

Hannibal enjoyed simple meals every once in a while, though he often preferred more complicated concoctions to fully entrance his nose and his tongue. But sometimes, a palate cleansing was more than welcome.

"Today is Sunday."

Mrs Harris started as she cleared the table, her husband sweeping crumbs casually from the table top to cast away into the bin. He sat back down as his wife continued.

"And, thanks to our new and improved work schedules, we now have every Sunday off!"

Francis grinned widely, one step away from shouting yay.

"And so, we shall all spend Sunday as a family day - yes, even you, Hannibal. So. Who fancies a picnic on the beach?"

"Yay! The beach!"

The family hadn't gone to the beach since Hannibal joined them, forgoing trips to allow him to settle. And now, he was being pulled along for the first one. Francis turned to Hannibal with a wide smile, while Jason barely kept in his sigh, but not his rolled eyes.

"Family time? Really?"

"Yes, Jason. And yes, you're coming too."

Mr Harris stated, standing from the table and disappearing upstairs to change, and to prepare a change of clothes, some towels and whatever he had in the attic for beach trips.

It occurred to Hannibal that he didn't own swim shorts, and so he ended up having to borrow an old pair of Jason's. At least they fit and were plain dark blue with a white stripe down the side seam.

Once everyone was ready, Mrs Harris bundled the children into the back of the car, smiling as Francis chatted about the last time they were at the beach.

"I found a sea snail!"

He said, talking to no one in particular.

"And Jason got nipped by a small crab."

He giggled, swaying as the car turned out from the driveway, shoulder braced on Hannibal's. After a moment, the kid decided Hannibal was comfortable enough to fully lean against, lowering his voice.

"I hope we see a bigger crab. And I hope it nips Jason again."

***

Once Hannibal reached the sand, he made one conclusion. Sand was bad. It got _everywhere,_ laying in all cracks and crevices of the human body. And there were plenty of people, some who rudely pointed out that yes, Hannibal was not of the Harris family bloodline. At the third instance, Hannibal hid a snarl, instead turning to watch Francis attempt to straighten out a beach blanket on the sand.

The ugly red, green and black checker patterned blanket dwarfed the six year old, and fought back with help from its ally, the wind. Jason noticed the struggle and chuckled, not offering to be Francis' ally.

Eventually, Mrs Harris saved her son from the tag team and used the wind to place the blanket, sitting on it right after.

"Let's get sunscreen on you three."

"I can do it myself."

Jason huffed, massaging the white cream into his skin. Hannibal too, did it himself, enjoying the split second of coolness in the face of the summer sun. Francis took a little convincing to sit still long enough to be lathered, but he did, and then he was released into the world again to rush towards the sea.

Mr Harris chuckled again, shaking his head softly and standing.

"Coming, boys?"

His son nodded and took off the shirt he was wearing, trotting to the sea in his swim shorts. After some consideration, Hannibal nodded as well, leaving his shirt on and sedately walking next to Mr Harris.

"Is this the first time you've been on a beach, Hannibal?"

"Yes, Mr Harris."

The man nodded, dark eyes watching the Lithuanian boy for a moment.

"You'll be fine in the water, once you get over the cold."

He smiled a little, before stepping into the incoming tide and plowing on to where Francis was waist deep and splashing a child around his age. Playing.

Taking a breath, Hannibal introduced himself to the sea and tensed at the liquid ice of its grasp. A few more steps into the waves and slowly, he acclimated to the cool expanse. Some more steps and he was level with his not-brother as he ran with the other kid, both under the watchful gaze of Mr Harris. Where the other child's parent was was a mystery, but Mr Harris didn't seem too bothered about being left babysitter.

Hannibal promptly ignored them and sank into the water fully, arms curving around in a circle as he swam. It had been a long time since he could swim somewhere that wasn't the pool in the Harris' back garden, and that was rare enough as it was, due to Jason always having girls around in the back.

He slipped into a sense of calm, the world falling away and leaving just Hannibal and the sea. It was an inner peace he hadn't been able to fully accomplish while cooped with the Harris family, or learning at school. Content in his mind palace pool, Hannibal only just held back a growl when the gentle calling of Mrs Harris rippled his peace into reality.

"Hannibal, dear, come and have some lunch with us."

He paused his swimming, feet barely grazing the sand as a free floating wad of seaweed brushed his thigh, and nodded.


End file.
